Let the race begin!

I got glasses today. I never had them before, so they are taking some getting used to. It does make things somewhat less blurry, but now everything looks strange to me. Perhaps it is because of the dark frames. I can't look through the lenses without seeing this big dark circle around them. I suppose, in time, I will get used to it. 

I have many books on novel writing, but I finally bought my copy of No Plot, No Problem. So far, I like the points it makes. I am really starting to get excited about NaNo and am ready for November to start already. This is going to be fun! (And hard, but I'll just keep the emphasis on the fun part) 

In a fit of either confidence or insanity, I have decided to try NaNoWriMo this year (here they are on LJ:  nanowrimo). It will be tough with three kids, yes, but I have six months to get ready for it and I have already begun the plotting process (as mentioned earlier, I have my characters in mind, as well).

When I decided to do NaNo, my daughter also expressed her interest in it. She is eleven years old now, but will be twelve by the time it starts. She has told me her story idea and... well, it is better than mine :) I can't wait to see how she does on it.

This is going to be fun... I hope.

...I just don't want to be broke.

I went to Starbucks today. I walked in, the woman behind the counter looked at me, smiled, and said "Tall mocha?" I only go there about twice a month, but I always order the same thing, and it is nice that they remember what I like. Today, though, as I was waiting for my mocha (and my mother's grande sugar-free caramel Frappuccino with whip) I looked up at the menu and I was suddenly struck with an odd, overwhelming urge to not be broke anymore. What brought it on, I believe, was the pictures of ceramic coffee cups filled to the brim and with designs swirled into the foam. I looked at the mugs, then down at the paper cup that my mocha was being prepared in, and I thought to myself why can't I go to a coffee shop where I can get my mocha in a real cup?

It is such a little thing, but it hit me so hard. Why can we not be broke? I clip coupons, use them wisely, and manage to save some $150 on groceries a month -- but we are still broke. We, like many people, sometimes have to decide between filling up the gas tank and paying the car insurance. We've had to choose between paying the water bill and paying the electricity. We've had to choose between keeping the internet on and keeping the phone on. We have to buy one car tire at a time and decide which one to replace. We are always out of money before payday, but we always make it, then the whole mess starts all over again (I don't believe that my twice-monthly Starbucks visits are an unacceptable splurge -- one cannot live on Chock full o'Nuts alone).

And that was it. Looking at those coffee mugs, I decided that we are not going to be broke all the time anymore. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to do it. We aren't poor, and I don't want us to be rich -- I just don't want us to be broke all the time. 

What I am writing right now (or, rather, what I am plotting) is in first-person, but it is from a man's perspective. I am, of course, not a man -- so I wonder if my story will be greeted with rolled eyes. I can easily see someone saying "a woman cannot get into a man's head" and dismiss it without giving it a real chance. I know that there are women out there who write first-person-male, as well as men who write first-person-female (both my daughter and I read and liked Bruce Coville's Nina Tanleven books), but I have to wonder what most people would think about it.

I have a baby name book that I bought back in the late 1980s. I didn't buy it because I was having a baby (I was just shy of 15 at the time), but because I really liked learning the meanings to names -- particularly those of my family. It was interesting to learn that my name meant "graceful one" (though, knowing myself as I did, I had to admit that the description was somewhat incorrect), that my mom's name meant "famous warrior-maid" (I had a difficult time imagining that), and that my father's meant "the supplanter" (Supplanter? What's that? I wondered) .

I still have the same book, and though I consulted it for the names of my three children (though we never used any of the names I'd check-marked in there), I must admit that, to this day, I use it for figuring out the names of the characters in my writing -- though not in the predictable sense of looking up names with meanings that I think will fit them. I usually just flip through the book after deciding on the first letter of the character's name (an odd place to start, but it works for me) and try to find a name that sounds right for them. Does the male I am writing about sound like a Michael or a Martin? Would he better tollerate having his name shortened to Mike or Marty? It helps me to see the name, definitions notwithstanding.

It is odd then, I suppose, that the name I settled on for my male lead character is not in the baby name book. I chose his name a couple years ago, based on one of my husband's friends. It was just a nickname, really, but it had a lot of personality and I was determined that I was going to use it. So I took the nickname online and searched, finally coming across a full name that would go well with both the nickname and the character.

I don't believe my parents had this much trouble naming me. 

I quit writing some months ago simply because trying to find the time was a frustrating effort. I seemed to be getting things under control lately, though, so I thought I would try again. Well, it was a thought, at least. Just last night I thought I would get some reading done, but the kids had other ideas. I did finally manage to get a couple chapters of Homeland read, but that was between the hours of midnight and 3:00 A.M., while I was trying to get the toddler to go to sleep. It took me that long to read two chapters -- can you imagine how much writing I would have gotten done? Not much. 

I am still going to do it, though. I'm going to make time to write, not just find time to write. Heck, even if I have to clean out my walk-in closet and pile a bunch of pillows on the floor for me to sit on, I am going to find a place where I can write in peace.

This should be fun. 

I made this journal to keep track of my writing, though my sleep-deprived mind didn't allow that to come across in my first post here. With everything going on in my life at the moment, I sometimes find it hard to get even a single word down on paper (or on the computer screen), and I have to keep reminding myself that writing is more than just typing. It is coming up with ideas, plotting, playing it out in my mind, researching, and so forth. It is easy for me to forget that those are all a part of the writing process -- it's not just my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Though you would think that after all this time I would be able to type without looking at said keyboard.

And so it begins.

I will be needing coffee, Cheez-its, and silence.

The first two are taken care of. With three children, however, the last one is a pretty tall order.